Before the Crowns
by Lachalora
Summary: Why were the Pevensie's chosen of all children to become the Kings and Queens of Narnia? Was it meant to be or was it an accident? This is the story of their life before Narnia. Book One in The Chronicles of Life series.
1. The Beginning

She was pregnant.

Helen stared back at her pale face in the mirror, taking note of the dark circles surrounding red-rimmed eyes. She daintily swiped on hand underneath her nose, inhaling deeply. She couldn't believe her misfortune. She was twenty-five years old, married only a few short months ago, now a mother-to-be.

A sound like something she'd heard from a newborn kitten escaped her lips. Inside and out, she looked and felt every bit as helpless and pathetic as that new kitten had looked.

It had been less than a year ago, just after their engagement that Helen and John had talked of a family some day. John had been an only child, and had always longed for siblings, so it was natural for him to want children.

"As many children as you'll give me Helen, and preferably one that looks just like you. That's all I could ever ask for."

Helen had been giddy with delight, so glad he shared her desire for a family she'd nearly missed what he'd said next.

"First our marriage, then a home for the two of us, our careers… and then everything else." He smiled warmly, his eyes dancing as he squeezed her hand lovingly."

Brought suddenly back to the present, Helen winced at the memory, once so fond, now overcome with dread. John had only just started his new position Professor of English Literature at Christ's College in Finchley; he'd had such plans, such dreams for the foundation he'd build for them… and their future family. A baby threw in an unexpected twist.

Helen had dreamt of a family, long before she was even married, ever since she was still just a girl. In her mind she'd seen something picture perfect, completely flawless. Long ago, she'd seen herself with a faceless, nameless man and four children – she'd always wanted four children. Two boys, and two girls. It would be perfect.

Helen had grown up with a timid father, a loud and overbearing mother and a frail, quiet younger brother. She'd seen their flaws, even from a young age, and had promised herself something different - something better.

But now, her perfect little plans had been turned upside down and stepped on.

They had bills to pay, and a brand new house mortgage to top it off. John's career was just taking off and Helen was only just completing her internship as a secretary. With the purchase of their house still close behind them, Helen and John were struggling to provide for themselves, much less a child. This was real life, and Helen realized her dreams were far from reality.

Dread continuing to creep into her heart, Helen suddenly realized she would have to tell John. The doctor had said she was already three months two months along; it wouldn't be long now before she wouldn't have to _tell _him, he'd see it for himself.

"No!"

Helen screamed, pounding her balled fist into the sink, wincing at the sharp pain that made its way up her arm. She flexed her hand, shaking it out and walked to the small kitchen where she promptly downed a large glass of water.

Setting the clear glass on the small wooden table, Helen slowly sank into the nearest chair, her head in her hands, her palms rubbing at her closed eyes.

"How could I have let this happen?" She whispered softly.

Two hot tears trailed down her wrist and hit the table simultaneously.

"This isn't how it was supposed to happen."

Her own voice sounded foreign, and dejected to her ears. Relaying the helplessness she felt inside. She'd always hoped the birth of her first child would be a happy thing. But it was turning out just the opposite.

Without knowing it, Helen placed a trembling hand across her abdomen, and suddenly, for the first time, she thought of the life now growing inside her as her own son or daughter. The thought, however brief, changed something and made her stronger.

She was going to be a mother, and although it wasn't turning out how she'd planned it to, in a few short months she'd be the parent of a real child – a precious baby.

_Maybe this __**is**__ how it's supposed to happen. _

For the first time since hearing the news, Helen smiled. Not a fake smile, but a true smile that went all the way to her eyes, stretching her face into a wide grin.

"I gave you this child for a reason dear one…"

The voice, almost like a whisper, so soft she nearly missed it made Helen jerk upright. She looked around the room, searching for the source of the voice, but there was no one there.

The hair on her arms stood up, but she wasn't cold – and she wasn't afraid either. There, in that small cottage in Finchley, Helen was given a peace she couldn't understand, she didn't even try.

"Helen!" She heard her husband call as he walked through the front door.

"Helen darling, are you feeling any better?"

Helen turned and stood to face her husband as he stood suddenly before her, his dark hair falling in waves over his forehead, his rich brown eyes filled with concern.

"Yes dear." Helen answered slowly. "Yes, but I have something to tell you."

She didn't know then, but that day was only the beginning of so much more than she could've ever imagined.


	2. Worth It

He was late.

John picked up his pace, weaving through swarms of people as he rushed to board the next train. It seemed as if he was being barricaded from all sides as he struggled to make his way through the crowd. His small brief case seemed heavier than before, weighing him down as he continued to make his way towards the large train.

The train's shrill whistle invaded his senses as he came to a sudden stop alongside one of the passenger cars. Quickly wiping his perspiring brow, John handed his ticket to the train car clerk before wearily boarding the train, taking the nearest seat available.

John glanced at his wristwatch, his brow wrinkling into a frown. It had been four hours since his neighbor, Lillian, had called with the news that Helen had gone into labor and had been taken to the hospital in Finchley. Unfortunately, he'd been in the middle of an important lecture and had missed the call entirely.

Helen would not be pleased.

From the very beginning she'd been nervous about his traveling so close to her due date; he knew she wanted him there for the birth of their first child.

"Don't worry Helen, I'll only be gone for a few short days, if that little tyke can wait this long to be born a few more days won't much difference."

Truth be told, he hadn't wanted to go on the trip any more that she'd wanted him to leave. In fact, he wouldn't have left at all if his senior, Mr. Allen Highmore, hadn't threatened him with unemployment.

He'd only been working at the college for a little over a year and had no intensions of being let go before he'd really had a chance. He needed work now more than ever; babies required much more than a factory job could provide.

John sighed heavily, running a hand through his dark hair as he looked forlornly out the window. As much as he'd dreamed of being a father, he'd never once imagined this. He'd dreamed of happy daughters and teaching his sons to play cricket one day, somehow he'd overlooked mortgages and overdue bills.

The train jerked suddenly as it slowly began to chug down the track towards its destination. It was a three hour train ride to Finchley and John was begging to wonder if he'd make it on time.

John sat back in his seat, wondering how long it took most babies to be born and if there was any way possible to make the train go faster. The sights outside of the train car flashed by at an almost dizzying speed as John sat silently, thinking to himself.

As he sat there, lost in his thoughts, John suddenly remembered they'd never made a final decision about what to call the baby.

They had thought of names, what to call their child if it was a boy or a girl. Helen had preferred the name Adam for a boy, and John was partial to the name Henry. When John had asked Helen about names for a girl she'd shaken her head lightly, her eyes precise.

"I don't think we're having a girl John." She'd said matter-of-factly. "I'm almost positive it's a boy."

John hadn't argued with her, although he'd repeated that they couldn't possibly _know _either way. Helen refused to be swayed.

"Believe what you must John, but mark my words, I see a boy in our future."

She'd smiled at him then, that familiar twinkle that he'd come to love once again breaking through her tired features and dark rimmed eyes.

From the beginning, this pregnancy had been difficult on her, as pregnancy was on most women. No matter how unpleasant she'd felt, through it all she did her best to hide her discomfort from John, trying to take any worry from his mind.

Even now Helen was trying to spare him from her pain. He only wished that one day, this new child would be like her.

He must've dozed, for in what seemed liked only minutes, the clerk was calling those headed to Finchley to make their ways from the train. John jumped up hurriedly, gathering his bags and nearly leaping to the platform.

The trip to the hospital seemed to rush by in a matter of seconds, but it still took too long to pay the cab driver and sprint into the hospital lobby. Walking briskly, John wasted no time, going right up to the front desk.

"Helen Pevensie?" He questioned, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to reign in his anticipation.

The nurse pointed in the direction of the maternity ward, and John barley caught the room number before he was off again, racing to Helen's side.

Although only a few short hours ago he'd been physically and mentally exhausted, John found a new source of energy as he dashed up the stairs avoiding the looks of distain he received from several hospital orderlies.

"Room 118, room 118, room 118…" John repeated the words over and over again as he rushed through the halls, his eyes scanning every door number.

After what seemed like an eternity John stood in front of Helen's room. He stopped still, his feet rooted in the floor beneath him. The door was shut, not a sound came from within as John strained his ears for the slightest sound.

In a matter of seconds his life would be changed and as much as he'd dreaded a baby in the first few months of Helen's pregnancy, John found that now it just might be worth it all. With no further hesitation John opened the door and walked inside.

A doctor and a nurse stood at the foot of the bed, another nurse at Helen's side as he walked in. They turned to him, nodding, no question of who he was. John's gaze shifted to his wife. Helen's face was pale as snow; her half shut eyes tired, but filled with life at the same time.

She was smiling, and while her face was weary, her smile was almost more radiant than the day they'd been married. John knew of only one reason for her evident joy.

Slightly unsure of himself, John's eyes moved to the small bundle she held close in her arms, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping.

Helen caught his gaze then, he smile widening as she beckoned him to sit beside her.

His movements were slow and dreamlike as he made his way to her side, stopping to stop next to her.

When she spoke, Helen's voice was hoarse with exhaustion and lined with pain, but John could hear the evident pride in her tone.

"John." She said warmly. "I'd like you to meet your son, Peter Henry Pevensie."

She drew back the white swaddling blanket to reveal the tiny baby beneath it.

John could only stare blankly, his mind reeling with emotion.

The baby blinked drowsily, as John eyes beheld his child for the first time.

"H-he's so small." Said John, his voice filled with wonder.

Helen laughed lightly, shifting the child in her arms.

"Small? Darling, he weighs almost ten pounds."

John reached out to stroke the small head, feeling the gentle softness of the wispy blonde fuzz before his hand trailed down to caress the rosy cheeks. Even as he sat admiring his new son, a different thought suddenly came to his mind.

"Peter? Helen darling, what made you change your mind?"

Helen shrugged her shoulders, clearly spent, but fighting to stay awake.

"The name Peter means "rock" and "foundation"; I just thought it seemed fitting. He is, after all, the beginning of our family, and all beginnings are in need of a solid foundation."

John needed no further explanation, kissing Helen's brow lightly as she drifted off to sleep before the nurse placed his son in his waiting arms.

And as John held his son close, he knew it had all been worth it.


	3. Once Again

Back and forth, back and forth.

John ran a trembling hand through his dark hair as he continued to across the halls St. Vincent's Hospital, his feet pounding his worries out against the faintly discolored linoleum floor.

The hospital, like its modest location, was also modest. The small waiting room seemed smaller than ever, growing smaller with every passing second as John waited with growing impatience. Helen had been in labor for over twenty-three hours and John wanted nothing more than to ease her pain.

He'd been allowed to stay with her only a short while before the contractions grew more intense and he was ordered to leave. It tore him apart to see her lying there, all the color gone from her beautiful face, experiencing a kind of pain he could ever imagine. And there was nothing he could do to help her.

Deciding that pacing would do him no good, John sat down heavily in the nearest chair. Stiff and uncomfortable, John leaved forward his fingers drumming out an unknown beat in his anxiety. He rocked back and forth slowly, his nerves winning the battle of his mind as he heard a woman's scream from down the hall.

"Helen?" He whispered, feeling more helpless than he ever had in his life.

There was no one to answer his call, no one to hear. John leaped to his feet, unable to wait any longer, moving swiftly towards the room he'd left Helen several hours before.

"Helen!" He called out, a little louder than before, not enough for the hospital orderlies to take notice, but the desperation was clear in his voice.

He would not let anything happen to his wife.

John thought back to the day his son was born, he'd held Peter in his arms for the first time, overcome with joy, but wary of the doctors warning.

"_The birth was very hard on her, the child could've killed her from within – it might be wise to take some time before having another one, alright."_

At the time, John had considered the warning more of a rebuke from a cold and unfeeling doctor, but looking back, he could now see the truth to his words.

Peter had been only nine months old when Helen found she was again expecting. They'd both been excited, eager to introduce Peter to his new brother or sister. Sister – Helen claimed she was sure she was carrying a girl. John had rolled his eyes at the time, knowing no one could really predict the sex of their child. Or at least that's what he'd been told.

"Yes darling, whatever you say."

She'd smiled good naturedly in reply, casting her eyes upward and shrugging her shoulders.

"You mark my words John Pevensie, this child of ours is a daughter, no doubts in my mind."

John exhaled harshly, letting out a small bit of his pent up emotion, his mind brought back to the present his thoughts now rooted deeply in reality.

"I'm so sorry Helen…"

John voice trailed off, his mind filling with despair as a sinking ship fills with water before capsizing. If anything happened to Helen… he'd be left alone. Alone, with two children to raise; children with no one to call 'Mummy'.

Helen's voice drifted through his mind as he sank to the floor, his back to the nearest wall.

"I've always dreamed of a large family." Her voice was merry and bright, as if she was the happiest woman in the world.

"We'll have four children – two boys and two girls – it's better that way, you know, so they can each have a special playmate…"

"They'll be strong, happy children. _We'll _be a strong, happy family…"

"And when it's all over, when one day our children have families of their own, we'll still be together – promise me John, we'll grow old together…"

John fought back emotion, struggling to stay strong, whatever happened.

Determined. Strong. Unafraid. That was what Helen was; that was what he needed to be now.

John refused to think of anything other than happy endings. He saw himself, standing alongside Helen as he held his baby daughter in his arms for the first time. He knew now, it would be a daughter, and she'd grow to be as beautiful as her mother.

He saw his children, Peter, his daughter – Susan, as Helen had wanted to call her, and two other children, now faceless in his mind, but one day – one day they'd be real. He saw birthday parties, games of follow the leader and smiles. And all through it, he saw Helen right there alongside him, with him to the end – never to be parted – not even by death.

It made him strong.

John was startled out of his reverie as a doctor; a middle aged man dressed in white led him to his wife's beside. All noise had left his senses, and the world seemed to move in slow motion. Dragging on, keeping him in agonizing suspense.

Once again, he stood in front of his wife's room, hesitant to go in, but unable to wait another second longer.

He pushed past the door.

There was Helen, pale and drained of all energy, the weak smile that graced her tired features doing little to hide her weariness. She was still more beautiful to him than anything.

She didn't speak, but her eyes gestured to the nurse near the far wall, wrapping a small, pink child in a white swaddling cloth. John nodded, placing a gentle kiss on his wife's brow before turning to the child, now cradled in the nurse's arms.

Without question, the woman placed the small bundle in his arms, and he could faintly hear the words "a daughter" pass the nurse's lips before she made her way from the room leaving the family in peace. John looked back to Helen, his eyes dancing, eager to meet his wife's before noticing she's fallen into a peaceful slumber.

His gaze went back to his daughter – his Susan, noting every perfect feature. His ears, her lips and nose and soft downy hair. She was flawless, beautiful, even in infancy.

Once again, he stood in a blissful joy, holding his new child in his arms.

Once again, he smiled.


	4. Predictions

"Susan!"

At the sound of Peter's voice Helen turned from what she was doing, glancing at her son's small pudgy form. He stood legs braced, and eyes narrowed with his round little fists planted firmly on his hips. On the floor in front of him was Susan, only just learning to sit, gazing up at her brother with sparkling, baby blue eyes. In her mouth was one of Peter's toys, a small, wooden soldier that John's father had given him during their last visit.

"Oh dear." Said Helen, a slightly amused tone to her voice.

As much as Peter loved his baby sister, it was just too much for him to share his prized soldier with her, he'd been guarding it closely since the day he'd received it. Helen wondered how Susan had even managed to find it, as Peter usually kept it tucked away in the nursery where the children slept.

Peter wasn't quite three years old yet, and although normally timid and shy, when it came to his precious soldier there was nothing he wouldn't do for it. Helen stopped for a moment, wondering if she should step in or let Peter handle it himself. Maybe she could give him a push in the right direction.

"Peter dear, what's the matter?"

Peter's face looked slightly relieved as Helen stopped alongside him, as if he knew all cause for worry was past.

"Baby took my toy! It in her _mouth_!"

Helen nodded sympathetically, using all her will power to control the urge to laugh as Peter's wide, blue eyes gazed back at her, full of the utmost seriousness. It was almost more than she could bear, the sound of his little voice threatening to send her into stitches. Putting on her most solemn face, Helen addressed her son.

"Yes, well that's no good now is it? What do you think we should do about this Peter?"

Peter contemplated this for a moment, placing his right thumb and forefinger on his chin as he had so often seen adults do, squinting in concentration.

"Could make 'er give it back?" Peter said slowly, his eyes searching his mother's face, hoping his answer had been correct.

"Yes darling, we_ could_ make her give it back, but how about if first, we _ask_ her to give it back."

Peter nodded thoughtfully, as if sensing the wisdom in his mother's words.

"Alright Mummy."

Helen nodded her encouragement as Peter took his hands off his hips and knelt down next to his baby sister.

"Go ahead!" She said with a smile, nodding towards Susan.

The little girl herself had been silent throughout the extent of the conversation between her mother and brother, but now looked up at Peter, drool dribbling from her chin and giggled softly, waving the wooden soldier around in the air.

Peter, momentarily distracted with worry for his little toy, turned back to face his sister, his face grave.

"Susie, will you give back Dobby?"

Helen smiled at his use of the name Susan had given the toy several days before, turning to the baby on the floor. Both she and Peter watched as Susan stared blankly back at her brother, completely unaware of his request.

Peter turned to face his mother, his lips parted and his eye brows knit together as if to say "I said it_ nicely_!"

Helen nodded back to Susan. "Try again Peter, maybe this time it'll work."

Helen was beginning to doubt it would, weren't all children supposed to respond when asked civilly? Helen was beginning to wonder if she knew anything about parenting at all. One moment, she was confidant and self assured, the next, she was doubting everything she'd ever been taught.

"_Please_ Susie!" Said Peter a second time, even going so far as to extend his hand for the toy.

Susan proved not to be won over so easily. As if she'd never heard a word Peter had said, she put the toy back into her mouth and began gnawing on it.

Peter's eyes grew wide with panic. "Mummy! She eating Dobby!"

Helen reached for Susan's arm only to be met by a shrill scream from the little girl. Hey eyes darted back to Peter, his face pleading with her to do something.

"Well, she is just a baby, maybe she didn't understand you?" Her voice sounding skeptical and unsure.

Bending over, Helen scooped up Susan, now content as no one was attempting to remove the wooden toy from her grasp.

"Susie, give Mummy the toy." Helen tried to sound confidant and firm, but her voice came out a bit shy of ideal.

Susan blinked slowly, showing no signs of giving up her newfound treasure. Helen was beginning to grow upset.

"Susie darling, _please._"

Still no effect, Susan continued to stare blankly back at her, with not even an idea of what was the matter.

Helen didn't want to do it, but she had no choice. Masking her uncertainty, Helen once again replaced her confused face with one that was surer of itself; looking directly into her daughters eyes, Helen acted.

"Susie, this is your brother's toy, it belongs to him, so I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to take it from you."

Placing her hand over Susan's small ones, Helen began to attempting to pry the baby's fingers from around the toy. Instantly, a loud wailing filled the room. All confidence was now drained from her, but Helen continued to work Susan's tiny fingers from around the soldier.

The wailing grew louder and Helen was no more desperate than ever to end the incessant wailing. Her gaze landed on Peter for just a moment, his eyes squeezed shut and his chubby hands over his ears. At least she wasn't the only one who disliked the noise.

"Susan please! Give me the toy!" Helen winced inwardly, she hadn't meant to shout.

Finally, after several minutes of agony, Susan relented and within moments the toy was once again safe in Peter's arms. After proclaiming his thanks and appreciation Peter rushed away to hide Dobby in a safer place.

Helen sat defeated on the sofa, Susan, now occupied with a rattle, cooing contentedly in her lap. Helen held the baby up, smiling tiredly as Susan locked her little knees and stood shakily in Helen's lap, one hand batting at her mother's gentle hand around Susan's middle.

"Oh you, what _am_ I going to do with you?"

Susan giggled happily in response. Helen sighed, bouncing Susan slightly.

"Oh the predictions of parenthood, it'll be simple and precise." Said Helen, a tinge of sarcasm in her voice as Susan began babbling nonsense.

"Well, I have some news you darling, predictions are almost always wrong."


	5. As It Should Be

"Almost there now Helen, just a few more steps."

John's face was flushed, his body ridged as he slowly helped his heavily pregnant wife ascend the stairs to the hospital's maternity ward. Helen, although perfectly able to walk up the stairs without assistance did her best to feign helplessness, after all, John so wanted to help.

After missing the birth of his first child, and being confided to a waiting room for the whole of his second child's birth, John was determined to do everything in his power to aid Helen this time around. Through it all, whether she'd needed a foot massage or a glass of water, he'd been the first at her side. Both guilt and anxiety contributing to his state of helpfulness.

It was only a matter of time before Helen could take no more of his babying.

"You know darling," said Helen as John continued to support her as they walked up the stairs. "I know this may sounds crazy, although I wasn't able to _walk_ into the hospital the first few times around, I must say, this _is_ a bit much don't you think."

John stopped suddenly, still clutching his wife's arm. "Well – I, eh… I'm just making sure you're not straining yourself love."

Helen chuckled good-naturedly, patting his arm with an affectionate gesture.

"Don't you worry John, the doctor said I'm healthier than ever and didn't have any concerns about this baby's birth – I think I can manage – and go much faster, if I walk up the stairs on my own."

John nodded sheepishly. "I suppose you're right."

And indeed she was right, the pace up the few remaining stairs was swifter than even Helen herself has been expecting. Although now only steps from the maternity ward, the end was far from over, for just as they reached the top of the stairs Helen was seized with yet another contraction.

John immediately put his arms around her protectively, rubbing her back and asking what he could do. Helen said nothing until the pain had passed and she'd righted herself again.

"There's nothing you can do John, except maybe next time, let's hope for a baby that doesn't decide to show his face on New Year's Eve."

John laughed softly, taking his wife's arm and looping it through his own before completing their trek and being escorted into a private room. Within minutes, Helen had undressed and redressed in the drab, blue hospital gown and was sitting on the side of the large white bed. Her fingers dug into the sheets as another contraction hit her, this time harder, and longer than before.

When the contraction had passed, Helen lapsed right back into normal conversation, as if she'd not been in pain only seconds before.

"You know, it's not myself I feel bad for, it's Peter and Susie, I didn't want for them to spend the holiday with the neighbors, I was hoping to be there with them. They were so looking forward to it."

John nodded, doing his best to look interested in what Helen was saying, when in reality, he was baffled at how well she was handling the pain. Although he'd been absent from Peter's birth, he remembered Helen being in excruciating pain during Susan's delivery. Perhaps it became easier with time, he thought to himself.

John was curious, he'd never actually witnessed a birth before, he wondered if he'd be allowed to, or if he be told to wait outside like he had when Susan was born. How long would it be before he held his new son or daughter in his arms? An hour, two?

Peter's birth had been very hard on Helen, as it was for most first time mothers, but Susan's birth had been nearly unbearable. What would an average pregnancy be like for her, perhaps that was the reason she was handling the pain as well as she was.

John continued to muddle in thought, one ear open as Helen continued to talk about this and that between contractions. He looked out the window, the evening had been fast approaching when they'd arrived, and now the world outside was completely wrapped in darkness. He glanced at his pocket watch, the time read quarter to seven; they'd been sitting in the hospital for over two hours!

John sighed deeply, and felt a slight twinge of guilt at his impatience. Helen was standing now, walking back and forth across the small room, one hand against the small of her back, the other resting on her swelled abdomen. He remembered his mother talking to Helen back during the Christmas holiday, something about walking to ease the pressure of childbirth. John didn't have a clue, so he'd ignored the conversation, just as now he threw the memory back into the recesses of his mind.

"Do you think it will be soon Helen?" John asked as innocently as possible.

She turned to him, nodding quickly and he noticed the damp locks at her hairline and the way she drew her lips tightly together. They're eyes locked, and after a few moments, Helen nodded to the door, motioning him to fetch the doctor.

It was time, John was sure of it.

Without hesitation he scurried quickly from the room, jogging down the hall while searching, and presently calling for their attending doctor. He ignored the odd stares he received for his pain until coming across the aging, white haired man who'd been attending to Helen in the months before the birth.

"Dr. Middleton!" John called out quickly. "It's Helen, she thinks it's time."

The old man smiled a wide, sincere smile, slapping John firmly on the back before walking in the direction of Helen's room.

"We wouldn't want to_ that_ now would we."

John did his best to smile at the man's playful remark, but already, is insides were trying up in knots at the thought of what was about to happen. He was about to become a father. Again!

Before long, Dr. Middleton, an attending nurse and John, who'd been allowed to remain for the birth on condition that he didn't faint, all stood around Helen's bed. Dr. Middleton and the nurse at the foot, and John at the head, holding tightly to his wife's hand as she squeezed back.

The following delivery went by in what seemed like a whirlwind. With considerable encouragement from both those attending, and John himself, Helen at last brought forth the child they'd been waiting months to meet. Helen gasped heavily, lying back against the pillows as exhaustion took over.

John watched her closely, his eyes gazing lovingly on her. She was laughing and crying at the same time, tears of joy pouring down her cheeks. She caught his gaze and smiled back at him.

"We did it!" She said hoarsely, clearly tired, but prouder than he'd seen her since the birth of his first two children.

John laughed, hardly able to say a word, as the sound of Helen's voice was replaced the loud and gusty wail of an infant.

"Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie, you've got a son!"

"A son!" John said, his smile growing wider by the moment. "You were right again Helen!"

No response was needed, for in the next instant, the little boy was placed in Helen's waiting arms. Red faced and screaming, Helen rocked and shushed him softly.

"What do you think of him John, isn't he perfect?"

John nodded, his mind traveling back to the faces of Peter and Susan for a moment before landing back on his new son. He reached out his hand and tenderly stroked to dark raven curls on the child's head, so like his own.

"What'll we call him John?"

"Edmund," John replied. "Edmund, it suits him, don't you think?"

Helen smiled, and John knew she agreed.

John sat next to his wife and child, his arms wrapped around the two of them, basking in happiness. He looked at his son, and in that moment, John knew all was as it should be.


	6. Purpose

The large wooden door creaked as John pushed his way into the hall. Briefcase in hand, along with several stacks of bills and letters, he staggered through the door, pushing it closed behind him.

"Helen!" He called.

Silence met him, hanging thick in the air. John's brow furrowed, his face puzzled as he set his armload down on the nearest table, craning his neck to look down the hall towards the kitchen. Helen was nowhere to be found.

"Helen!" He called again, this time raising his voice.

In answer, John heard Helen's footsteps rattling quickly down the stairs. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, uncurled and free from its usual waves around her face. Her eyes were tired and red-rimmed, but John also caught a glimpse of something else within them. Helen was angry; John turned to run, but it was too late, she'd seen him.

"John!" She hissed, her eyes seeming to bore through his skull. "I've just got Peter and Susan to bed, they've been sick all day; are you trying to irritate me?"

John winced at the sharp tone of her voice. "Of course not Helen, I'm sorry if I woke them."

Helen rolled her eyes slightly, but the gesture did not go unnoticed. John tensed unconsciously, sighing under his breath as Helen shifted the wide eyed Edmund in her arms before walking briskly away, leaving him standing alone in the foyer yet again.

John ran a hand through his hair, sighing once more as he shrugged out of his light overcoat. From the kitchen came the banging of pots and pans as Helen began preparing a light meal.

Part of him, the doting husband part of him, knew he should go in a and offer to lend a hand, but the other part of him, the part that was tired from a long day's work wanted nothing more than to finish grading English papers and relax. For several long, and trying moments, John debated within himself. The decision was not an easy one, but John knew there would be no living with Helen if he chose to ignore her in her time of need.

Taking a deep breath, John trudged into the kitchen.

Helen was already elbow deep in work, dirty dishes on the counter, broom in a corner, and stewpot simmering on the stove. Edmund, unaware of her activity, cooed happily away at her side, weaving his fingers into her unpinned tresses.

John smiled slightly, his mood changing as he came up behind Helen, his hand on her shoulder, stopping her for just a moment.

"What can I do to help love?"

John smile grew, more sincere than moments before as the stress seemed to disappear from his wife's face. And although her lips remained straight, a smile danced in her eyes. She nodded slightly, the smile now reaching her lips as John took Edmund from her arms.

"Why don't you sit down darling, I can cook dinner, just rest a bit."

Helen chuckled softly, nodding her head towards the pot on the stove. "It's just about done John, but even so, I hate to remind you that you can't cook."

It was John's turn to laugh, his relief at Helen's mood change making lightheartedness easy to come by.

"If worst came to worst, I think I could manage a couple of sandwiches."

Helen laughed again, this time a more earnest, carefree laughter. She shook her head, slapping John playfully before sitting slowly at the small kitchen table. Bouncing Edmund on his hip, John slowly stirred the steaming stew as Helen and he talked quietly.

Time ticked away, the two of them sharing their day, sharing a meal, and sharing their family as the evening grew deeper. Before long, after checking in on Peter and Susan, and putting Edmund to sleep in his bassinet at their bedside, John and Helen lay quietly, fingers entwined as they listened to their son's soft breathing.

"Thank you John." Said Helen, her soft voice breaking the stillness around them.

John turned to his side, facing her as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to his chest.

"You're welcome love."

Helen smiled up at him, it was a small smile, but it made all his efforts worth it.

"We're lucky you know," she said, stroking his fingers tenderly. "Even on the worst of days, we're lucky. Some people spend their whole lives searching for something we already have, some never find it."

John said nothing, only pulling Helen closer to him. He knew he was lucky – blessed – as some called it. In his wildest dreams he would have never pictured himself here, a father and husband. He'd dreamed of traveling, learning all he could before settling down.

But as time went by, his plans were scattered to the wind, dashed by the death of his mother, placed aside as he fell helplessly in love, and shelved as he married the love of his life. The woman he was building a different life with.

Different, but not bad. Different, but good – he _was_ lucky. The dreams of his youth may have passed away, but with Helen, with the children, John worked on building new dreams – better dreams. To some, their life would appear ordinary and meaningless, but when looking again, their life was far from meaningless. Together, he and Helen were raising a new generation – they were raising the hope of the future.

And that was full of meaning, full of _purpose_.


	7. Every Moment

Giddy laughter filtered through the air as a cool, morning breeze drifted in through the automobile's boxy windows. Helen smiled slightly, glancing over her shoulder at Susan and Peter and Edmund. The three siblings laughed again, and Susan pointed outside.

"Look Mummy! There's a doggie, can we have a doggie Mummy?"

Helen shrugged her shoulders, raising her eyebrows as if to say "maybe", but really, a dog was out of the question. Not now, not with another baby due any day. Helen rubbed her belly fondly, leaning back, but only for a moment. Just as she grew comfortable, John pulled the car alongside their new house.

It seemed as if they'd outgrown their old home ages ago; after Edmund's birth, their two-bedroom home just hadn't been large enough. The second bedroom, otherwise known as the nursery, was home to both Peter and Susan, and when Edmund had come along, his crib had been haphazardly placed alongside of John and Helen's bed. So much for a love nest.

Now, after over two years of saving, they'd finally been able to purchase a new home. It couldn't have come at a better time.

Only seconds after the car had rolled to a stop, all three children were leaping from the car. First Peter, then Susan, who shrieked excitedly after her brother, followed lastly by Edmund, who practically fell from the car behind his siblings, picking himself up and toddling along to follow them.

Helen stayed still, one hand on the handle of the car door, taking it all in. The house, a modest sized, brick residence, looked like something out of a story book. With everything from a large red door to a white picket fence, this house was everything Helen had dreamed of.

The light from the dazzling mid-morning sun was blocked suddenly as John stepped in front of the door. He smiled down at her, a wide, toothy smile that made her heart sing. Opening the door, John reached in and took her hand, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze.

"This is it." He said, glancing over his shoulder as little Peter pushed his way through the door. John laughed, chuckling as the two of them listened to the sound of their children's excited screeches.

Hand in hand, John and Helen walked the stony path to the front door. Just before entering, John stopped suddenly. Helen looked back, raising her eyebrows.

"What is it John?"

John shrugged his shoulders sheepishly before replying.

"Well, I know it may sound silly, but I'd like to carry my darling wife over the threshold once again – after all, it is tradition."

Helen laughed, not exactly at him – not exactly – and rolled her eyes playfully.

"Of course John, if you insist, but remember – this time you'll be carrying me and our child."

John nodded, tossing a black lock of hair out of his eyes before scooping Helen up in his arms. He stumbled slightly, making a show of how heavy Helen was, all the while laughing his jolly, carefree laugh.

"John!" Helen exclaimed, one hand gripping his shoulder for dear life, the other smacking him across the back of the head.

"I was only joking darling." Said John, a mockingly betrayed look on his face.

Helen only laughed louder, her laughter now echoing through the halls of their new home.

Their new home.

From upstairs, the pounding of little feet bounced from room to room. After a quick peck on the lips, John ran after them, up the stairs to investigate their shenanigans. Helen almost wished he'd let them be, and leave them to continue their play. The sound of their little feet warmed her heart.

Silently, with blissful joy, Helen walked through each and every room. Through the sitting room, past the dining room and into the kitchen. Every square inch, every brick and blade of grass, it was all theirs, theirs and their children's.

As if on cue, John and the children pounded down the stairs. John chasing Peter and Susan, growling like a lion with Edmund under his arm. Helen smiled giddily, placing a tender hand on her abdomen.

"Soon darling, soon you can join the games as well." She whispered.

No sooner had the words left her mouth, than she felt a tightness within her, and without a shadow of a doubt, Helen knew it was time again.

"Of course, you could've picked a better time little one."

From across the room, John's head spun around, his surprise only equaled by the sense of knowing.

There would be no more waiting for the newest Pevensie.

Helen gasped, crying out one last time as she heard the doctor say those wonderful words, the words she'd heard only once before.

"John, Helen, you have a daughter!"

Helen felt John squeeze her hand lovingly as she laid back against the pillows. Though she was exhausted, her heart was brimming with joy – with love as she heard her new daughter cry for the first time.

The labor and delivery had been short, easier than even Edmund had been, but Helen still felt its affects.

Grinning from ear to ear, she watched, sitting up slightly as John carried their child tenderly, her little head cupped in her father's hands. It was a picture worth painting.

And then, reaching out with eager arms, Helen gathered her daughter to her, breathing in her sweet, newborn scent. Tears of joy sprang into her eyes, but Helen made no move to wipe them away.

She'd cried with every child.

She'd cried in pain on the day Peter was born, his birth sapping nearly all her strength, but her tears changed to tears of happiness the moment she first held him in her arms, scared and uncertain. She'd cried tears of fear the day Susan was born, when the doctors told her she could lose her own life, knowing she couldn't leave John and Peter alone, but all her fears dissolved the moment she heard Susan's cry, somehow she knew everything would be fine. Her tears had been worried the day Edmund had come into the world, she'd been scared that something would go wrong, like it had before, and that time, her tears turned into tears of relief when John smiled, telling her all was still well.

Stroking her newest daughter's soft, downy wisps of hair, Helen cried. Once again, she'd fallen helplessly in love with her child, marveling at every perfectly formed finger and toe. Her tears were joyous tears, but there was something else behind them.

Deep with her, Helen knew this time would never come again. This child, this perfect princess; somehow, Helen knew that this baby girl would be her last.

And there, in that tiny hospital room, Helen treasured every moment.


	8. A Fresh Start

Peter gazed up at the cherry red glass ball with wonder, his wide, bright eyes taking in every detail. Reaching up tentatively, Peter's finger's itched to touch the perfect circle. As his hands closed around the shiny round ornament, Peter smiled slightly, grinning as he stared back at his own face, oddly disfigured by the circular shape before him.

"Peter Henry Pevensie!"

Peter jerked suddenly, his Aunt's sharp, harsh voice startling him, his eyes widening in horror as the glass ball slipped from his fingers and shattered to the floor, now one in a million pieces. He heard his aunt gasp, tearing his horrified eyes away from the shard beneath him to look with dread at his aunt.

Her face, like Peter believed his own must look, wore a mask of surprise and horror. Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to look her in the eyes. He knew it now, he was in deep trouble.

"Peter! What have you done?" She screeched.

Peter gulped, wincing as her voice bit into his core. His lower lip trembled as attempted to make a reply.

"I-I, I didn't mean to Aunt Alberta." Peter stuttered.

The noise from the room attracted others, and soon Peter's Mother, his Uncle Harold, his siblings and his Grandmother stood around him. Helen, rushing straight to her son's side, immediately checked his hands for cuts and his clothes from shards of glass. Six year old Susan, stood in the far corner, as if aware of the trouble brought on the shards that littered the floor.

"You see Mildred?" said Alberta, turning to Peter's Grandmother. "This is why I just can't stand to have your daughter's dreadful children in my home! My Eustace, he would never do such a thing, and he less than half Peter's age!"

Helen's head shot up, her eyes blazing protectively.

"It was only an accident Alberta, I'm sure Peter didn't mean to break the ball."

Alberta sniffed indignantly, and Helen turned to her mother for support, but like always, her mother's gaze was cold and unfeeling. Helen should have known better than try.

"Really Helen," said Grandmother, glancing with disdain at her oldest an only daughter.

"You should've taught them better."

Helen did her best to mask her hurt, running her hands over Peter's hair and pulling him close as he sniffled.

"I'm sorry mother." Helen hissed, using all her control not to scream.

"I'm sorry if I don't meet you're approval."

The silence that hung in the room was deafening, Peter looked up at his mother, regret evident in his smooth features. Reaching up, Peter took his mother's hand in his, only to find it was trembling slightly. Doing his best to comfort her, he squeezed her hand softly, hoping she'd understand.

Just then, the front door burst open, and John, with Lucy over his shoulder and packages under his arm, came striding in, followed closely by Helen's father, and a rosy cheeked Edmund. Their mood, unlike the icy interior around them, seemed bright and merry, and those on Christmas Eve should be.

His mother's brother, Uncle Harold, turned silently, fleeing the room swiftly. He was a quiet, meek spirited man, and conflict was one of the many things he dreaded. As he inched quietly away, Peter caught the small, pitying look he shot in his direction.

One by one, the room emptied, Aunt Alberta, throwing her hands up in the air in defeat, Grandmother, grabbing Eustace by the hand right behind her. Peter looked down at the small, red shards that littered the floor, wondering how something so small could cause such a big problem. He looked back up again as his mother patted him half-heartedly on the shoulder, her face turned away from him as she fled the room.

"Peter?" His father questioned, his eyebrows raised in question.

Peter's eyes darted back to the floor, shame filling him. He hadn't meant to cause such a fuss, he'd just wanted hold the beautiful glass ball.

"I… I didn't…" Peter choked back the tears that now threatened to spill from his eyes, no longer bright and carefree.

His father set down Lucy, patting her hair before she toddled off to the kitchen to join her Grandfather. Hands in his pockets, Peter watched tearfully as his father sat down on the floral sofa, patting to the seat beside him.

Swiping his hand under his now drippy nose, Peter shuffled slowly to sit beside his father.

"I didn't mean to do it Dad, it's all my fault Mum is sad."

His father smiled sadly, placing a comforting hand in his son's shoulder.

"It's alright little man, your Mum knows it was an accident, it's just hard for her. You know how sometimes you fight with Susie and Eddie? A long time ago, Mum had a fight with her Mum, your Grandma, and well… it's hard. But you know Pete, your Mum always loves you, no matter what alright? And right now, more than ever, she needs us to be strong for her. Can you do that?"

Peter turned his head, looking his father straight in the eye.

"I think I can." Said Peter, more serious than he'd ever been.

"Good man." His father said, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"Go in then, she needs you now."

Peter nodded again, standing and walking down the hall to the guest room where his parents and Lucy slept. Peeking his head in the door, Peter saw his mother, sitting hunched over on the bed, tears running down her face. Peter knocked softly, giving his mother a moment; he knew how she hated them to see her cry.

"Mum? Mum are you alright?" Peter called out softly.

Silence for a moment, then sniffling.

"Uh, yes darling, I'm alright."

Slowly, Peter pushed open the door, his face full of remorse as he moved towards his mother. Standing next to her, he placed his hand on her knee, trying to let her know somehow, that he was sorry.

She smiled slightly, wrapping her arms around him, not needing any other words. Peter hugged her tightly, burying his face in her hair, breathing in her sweet, rosy smell.

"I love you Mum."

"I love you more Peter."

Sitting back, wiping the last of the tears from her face, Helen took Peter's hand in hers, leading him towards the door.

"What do you say, we go try for a start fresh?"

Peter nodded, squeezing his mother's hand tightly.

"I like that idea, I like that very much."

As Peter and his mother walked hand in hand to join their family, Peter decided that Christmas with the Scrubbs might not be so bad after all.


	9. First Fright

"Peter! Where are you going?" Called four-year old Edmund.

Peter skipped lightly through the frothy sea foam as he waded slowly back to shore, being careful not to scrape himself on the many colorful sea shells that littered the white shoreline. He turned back to face his brother for a moment, shading his eyes with his hands as he called back to him.

"I'm just going to the shore for a moment Eddie, I'll be back!"

Edmund nodded, dismissing his curiosity and diving once again beneath the surface of the smooth ocean waves. Susan, only an arm's length away, stayed as close to the shore as she could while still in the water, hesitant to venture any further than a few meters.

Peter turned back to the shore, peering across the sand to where his mother sat silently on a small weave blanket. Two year old Lucy sat beside her, both her chubby hands buried in the warm sand. Peter patted her hair fondly, squatting down beside her.

"What are you making Lu?" He asked, grinning as she smiled back up at him.

"Castle!" Shouted the toddler loudly.

Laughing, Peter grabbed a towel, drying the last drops of sea water from his bare arms. Bending over, he reached for a hand sized tin shovel, the one Edmund had received as part of a set from Granddad Pevensie. Carefully, Peter shoved his baby sister just how to hold it.

"This is how you make a castle Lu."

Still smiling from ear to ear, Lucy reached out happily, grabbing the shovel from her brother's hand, trying it out for herself.

"I do it Pe'er, I do it!" Shrieking loudly with excitement, Lucy waved her shovel in the air, sending bits of sand flying into Peter face.

Grabbing her hand lightly, Peter turned her arms away, hoping to protect himself from further sand showers. A pleasant, jolly laughter from behind him made Peter turn to see not only his mother, but his father laughing at his sister's antics.

John had been away from the family for most of their holiday, as the trip itself was a result of several lectures John was obliged to give. They'd been here at the seaside for nearly three days, and this was the first Peter had seen his father on the beach. Gone were his work clothes and heavy brief case, in their place, John wore a pair of light colored slacks and held a dinner basket in his arms.

"Little Lu getting the better of you Pete?" His father chuckled fondly.

Peter grinned sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. "She is pretty tough, "said Peter jovially, grinning broadly before adding. "For a girl."

John laughed louder, resting his hand on Helen's shoulder.

"We've got quite the bunch, don't you think so Mrs. Pevensie!"

Helen laughed along with him, turning up to face him. "Indeed we do… Mr. Pevensie!"

John bent down, placing a quick kiss on his wife's cheek before reaching over to tousle Peter's hair and scoop Lucy up in his arms.

"Speaking of a bunch, where's Susie and Eddie, I've brought his diving mask, he left it back at the cottage."

Peter gestured back to the shoreline. "They're in the water Dad, Edmund didn't want to come out so Susan stayed back with him."

John raised his eyebrows. "Susan wanted to stay back?" He questioned.

It was only common knowledge in the Pevensie family, Susan was no water girl, in fact, she avoided water in general, insisting that is would ruin her hair. Although Peter and Edmund just decided she was afraid of course. Granted, when forced, Susan was an excellent swimmer; maybe one day she'd enjoy it half as much as Edmund did.

"I don't see him out there." Said John skeptically.

Setting Lucy down on the ground, John cupped his hands around his eyes, peering out towards the water. Peter turned, following his father's gaze. There was Susan, squatting in the sand along the water, her back to the waves, drawing something. Peter squinted, looking harder, but Edmund was nowhere to be found.

"John?" Said Helen breathlessly.

Peter turned to face his mother, her face had gone white even in the fading light of afternoon. When Peter turned back to his father, he was running down to the water, first slowly at a jog, then faster, until he kicked sand up behind him in clouds.

"Susan!" Peter heard him yell

"Susan, where is your brother?"

Peter saw Susan point out towards the water, her face blanching as she saw she was alone. Peter stood from his place on the ground, walking quickly to join them.

"Edmund!" His father called, searching the shoreline, scanning it as far as his eyes could see. But Edmund was gone, vanished it seemed, right out of thin air.

Susan, wide eyed and shaking, shook her head. "H-he was right there! I know he was!"

"Edmund!" His father called again, just as Peter stopped alongside his sister, fear knotting his stomach.

"Edmund!" He heard his mother call out from behind him, turning in circles as she called his name, hoping to find him close by.

Peter turned again, facing his father, dread growing within him every moment. His father's face was white, fear evident in every feature. Splashing water up around him, John waded out into the water, his eyes intently scanning their shallow depths, then venturing further out.

"EDMUND!" He called again, breathing deeply before diving under.

Susan was crying now, standing at Peter's side, shoulders shaking with sobs. Peter listened, numb with fear, unable to comfort her. Only watching as his father dove under again and again, listening as his mother called frantically for help.

"I-I only turned away for a m-m-minute." Susan sobbed, clinging to her brother's arm in her fright.

Guilt crept into Peter's gut, sinking down into him. It was his fault, Peter was sure of it. Edmund was gone and it was all his fault.

Finally, he turned to Susan, wrapping his arm around her and shushing to her.

"There, there Su, i-it wasn't your fault."

Just as the words passed Peter's lips, John burst to the surface, Edmund nowhere in sight. This time he didn't go back under, but turned around, arms clawing through the water, calling Edmund's name. Trudging back to shore, John's face was ragged, his expression defeated. A dry, hoarse sob came from his throat; Peter couldn't bear to look at him.

Peter's eyes followed his father, tears now making their way to his eyes, flowing freely down his face. Slowly, John walked, only five staggering steps before collapsing in the sand. His finger clenching, unclenching as he pressed his forehead into the ground.

"Dear God!" He sobbed, his voice thick and husky.

Tears running like rivers down his cheeks, Peter squeezed his eyes shut, willing this nightmare away.

"John!"

Peter's head shot up, startled as he heard his mother scream from the cottage where she'd gone to call for help. His father also looked up, pain searing from his eyes.

"John!" Yelled Helen, as both John and Peter began to make their way up the incline to the cottage.

They didn't need to go far, for only seconds later, Helen appeared at the door; a groggy, ruffled Edmund in her arms.

A strange noise erupted from his father, and Peter was only just behind him as John raced to the cottage, nearly sagging with relief. His father reached Edmund only a moment before he did, taking him up in his arms, cupping the back of his head with his hand, tears, the first Peter had ever seen his father shed, running down his face. Helen, right beside him, placed hundreds of kisses in his wet black curls.

Peter watched, more relieved than he'd ever been and both his parents sunk to the ground, Edmund between them. Susan had Lucy by the hand, still sobbing as she ran past him, clutching to her mother and brother.

"Eddie alright?" Asked Lucy innocently.

Edmund, no longer enjoying the attention, squirmed, hastily replying.

"Of course I'm alright Lu, can't a man take a nap around here without all this fuss?"

Peter smiled, glad that Edmund was back, hoping he'd never feel this way again, it was simply the most horrid feeling in the world. He never could've counted on what was to come. In all his life he'd never been so worried.

All over his little brother.


	10. Mixing Bowls and Spatulas

Seven year old Susan sat perched on the cushioned window seat, chin resting gently on her fists as she stared out the window. Boredom hung like a cloud around her as Susan glanced at the clock, wishing for time to pass just a little bit faster. Leaning forward, pressing her face to the cold glass, Susan let out a warm, steamy breath, fogging up the window. Using her little finger, Susan began to idly trace designs in the fogged area, sighing loudly.

Hearing her sighs, Edmund walked into the front room, a toy plane in his hand and Peter behind him. Peter walked right over, sitting beside his sister as she continued to trace patterns on the glass.

"You know Mummy doesn't like it when you do that Susan, she says you'll smudge it."

Susan stuck out her tongue, an action that greatly annoyed her brother while continuing to drag her finger across the fogged window.

"Mummy's not here now Peter, and besides, I can just wipe it off with my sleeve."

Peter scowled at her, his eyes growing narrow as he folded his arms across his chest.

Heaving a sigh of brief satisfaction Susan quickly wiped up the fogged window with the sleeve of her blouse, turning then to swing her legs over the edge of the seat. Edmund, now beginning to feel left out, hurried over, climbing up onto the window seat to sit in between Susan and Peter, his legs swinging wildly as he made himself comfortable.

For a moment, no one said a thing, Susan picked at a pleat in her wool skirt, and Peter brushed a lock of blonde hair from his eyes. It was Edmund who broke the silence.

"I'm bored." He said blankly, voicing the feelings of both his siblings.

Peter nodded, glancing back out the window.

"I wish Mum would come home already, she always finds something for us to do."

Their mother had been tending to Grandmother Scrubb for nearly a week now, and needless to say, the whole family felt her absence. While she was away father had asked Alice Abernathy, their next door neighbor to watch the children while he was at work. She was a good woman, kind by all means, but far too soft hearted for her own good. While Peter, now nine years old, did his best to help, poor Alice was simply unable to handle Susan's sass, Edmund's mischievous escapades, and little Lucy's cries for her mother. Try as she might, discipline was not her strong point, and things had gotten a little out of hand before the weekend had finally arrived.

Susan sighed again, hopping down from the window seat and heading for the kitchen. Turning only long enough to signal her brothers to follow, Susan padded over to the kitchen pantry, reaching up to grab one of her mother's long kitchen aprons.

As she began the painstaking task of adjusting it to fit her small body, Peter and Edmund entered the room. Edmund raised his eyebrows questioningly as Peter snickered at the sight of his sister drowning in their mother's floral apron.

"What are you doing Susie?" Asked Edmund, setting his toy plane down on the kitchen table.

Susan huffed indignantly, rolling her eyes.

"Eddie, stop asking questions and help me tie this thing!"

Needless to say, Edmund didn't appreciate his sister's rebuke, crossing his arms across his thin chest.

"You put it on! You tie it!" Said Edmund defiantly.

Stomping past his sister, Edmund pushed a box against the wall, climbing up as he reached to grab another apron from the wall.

Peter, now more confused than he had been moments before, questioned his brother.

"Ed, why are you putting on an apron?"

Edmund stopped suddenly, as if rethinking his entire reason in the first place. Brow wrinkled Edmund looked down at the apron he now struggled to tie.

"Well… Susie's wearing one!"

Peter shook his head, chuckling.

"Susie's a girl, and you don't even know why she's wearing one in the first place!"

Stopping again, Peter looked to Susan for an answer.

"Why are you wearing an apron Su?"

Susan shook her dark brown curls, clicking her tongue as if it was the most obvious reason in the world.

"What do you think silly? I'm going to bake a cake for Mummy when she comes home!"

Both Peter and Edmund were surprised, Peter's face was skeptical, Edmund's giddily excited.

"I want to bake a cake!" Said Edmund. "Please Susie, pleeeaase can I help!"

Susan nodded readily, graciously stooping to tie Edmund's apron for him. Peter remained unsure.

"I don't know Su, have you ever made a cake before?"

Susan nodded quickly.

"I've watched Mum make cakes before; I even held the bowl for her when she stirred the batter!"

A pained expression made its way to Peter's face; he grappled to find a way out of this. He was sure that little other than a mess lay in store.

"Susan," he said cautiously. "Holding the bowl for Mum and making a cake are too different things. How do you know that it will work?"

Susan shrugged her shoulders, still not convinced to lay aside her "career" as a baker.

"How hard can it be Pete, don't be such a spoil sport." Said Edmund.

"Couldn't you at least ask Dad for help?" Said Peter, making a last ditch effort.

Susan and Edmund both declined his suggestion, busily scurrying around the kitchen, gathering ingredients. Throwing his hands up in the air in dismissal, Peter gave up trying. The very least he could do was make sure they didn't break anything.

Grabbing the last of mother's aprons, Peter quickly tied it around his waist, rolling up his sleeves before joining his younger brother and sister at the kitchen table. Susan had already gathered nearly everything from the kitchen pantry, whether or not it was actually an ingredient for cake, and Edmund was gracelessly dumping an entire bag of flour into the large ceramic mixing bowl.

Peter, anxiety already creeping into his consciousness, plunged in, feverishly cleaning up what messes his siblings had managed to make during the last few minutes.

Susan, in all her seriousness, misread nearly every direction in the cookbook, Edmund dropped half the eggs on the floor, and all Peter could think about was what their father would do when he came out of his study.

Peter's apparent edginess did nothing to hinder Susan's "creative genius" as it were. Nearly a half hour after they'd begun their lighthearted task, Susan literally shoved the teetering cake into the wide oven, slamming the door shut. Dusting the bits of flour from her hands and her hair, Susan turned to face her brothers, looking prouder than she'd ever been.

Edmund returned her wide smile, all the while as bits of egg yolk dripped from his raven locks. Peter on the other hand was too busy to take pride in this momentous accomplishment; instead he scurried around the kitchen, still trying to mop bits of egg and flour from the floor.

Attracted by the sounds from below, John suddenly entered the kitchen, his expression shocked as he took in the mess around him. All three siblings froze, Peter with his head in his hands and Susan, looking slightly ashamed.

For a moment, John said nothing, only stood still as he inspected the room, and his children. Edmund, quite uncomfortable in the silence, piped up suddenly.

"We made a cake for Mum, Daddy!" His impish grin hard to ignore.

Shaking his head slowly, the children were suddenly surprised when a deep, rich laughter erupted from their father, his shoulders shaking as his laughter grew.

Peter relaxed instantly, Susan proud smile returned, and Edmund laughter joined their father's, not so much amused as it was nervous.

"You little imps!" Wheezed their father as he paused his laughter to speak.

"I should've known something like this would happen the first time your mother leaves me alone with you!"

His laughter subsided slowly, although the amusement never left his eyes. Tossing a rag to Susan and Edmund, and taking a mop for himself, John shook his head.

"We'd better get this cleaned up before your mother gets home, or mark my words; she'll never leave me home with you again!"

Still laughing slightly, both John and the children began to clean up their momentous afternoon of boredom.


	11. On The Other Side

It was getting harder and harder not to laugh.

Edmund, being all of seven year old smart as they came, knew the mumps was no laughing matter. However, as he peeked into his sister's room, it was difficult to remain stoic; their fat cheeks and gloomy scowls making even the mumps look slightly entertaining.

Ducking back behind the door, Edmund quickly disappeared from sight as his mother came into view. She'd given Edmund the strictest orders to stay away several days before when little Lucy had first become ill. He'd begrudgingly obeyed, giving his sister a sad wave as his father had carried the little girl to bed.

Her orders had grown far more difficult to obey in the days following, for the very next morning Susan too had fallen ill, then by the end of the day Peter was also under the weather. All three sick children confined to the girls room, now being used as an infirmary of sorts.

After a single day of what seemed like solitary confinement, Edmund crept stealthily up the stairs towards his sibling's room, unable to stand being alone any longer. Being healthy, even if it was from the mumps, wasn't nearly as bad as being deserted – at least in Edmund's mind.

Sure that the coast was now clear, Edmund peeked his head back in the door, his mother nowhere to be seen. The girl's beds, first Lucy's, then Susan's, lined the far wall, a small window between them. Peter, no bed available in the girl's room, was confined to a padded cot closest to the door.

Pushing the door open slowly, cautiously, Edmund took a single step in, turning his head in each direction. Both his sister lay fast asleep, discomfort evident even while sleeping. Turning towards his brother, Edmund found him awake, his nose buried in a Sherlock Holms novel.

"Pete!" Edmund hissed, not daring to raise his voice above a whisper.

Peter's head shot up, wincing in pain as he moved his sore neck and face.

"Ed? What are you doing in here? Mum said not to come in here!"

Edmund wrinkled his nose at the sound of his brother's voice, the thick and unnatural sound unnerving him. Padding over to sit at his brother's side, Edmund crossed his arms across his chest.

"I couldn't stand it anymore!" Said Edmund miserably.

"It's so lonely being the only kid downstairs. I have to eat dinner every night all alone! Just Mum and Dad! You can't imagine how horrid it is!"

Peter smiled at his brother's reasoning, even the small facial movement paining him.

"Trust me Ed, you don't want the mumps, it's the most miserable thing in the world!"

Edmund shook his head, his gaze comically firm and unwaveringly unconvinced.

"I don't care! The mumps had to be better than staying by myself all the time, and I heard Dr. Colbert tell Mum that said that you could be sick for weeks!"

Peter's face, flushed pink only moments before, suddenly blanched at his brother's words. Edmund, realizing his mistake, clapped his hand over his mouth, a sheepish "sorry" escaping his lips.

Peter, now more miserable than ever, covered his eyes with his hand, groaning aloud.

"Weeks! I thought a few days of this was dreadful, weeks just might kill me!"

Quite skeptical, Edmund shook his head, patting his brother's arm in attempt to comfort him.

"Don't worry Pete, I also heard The Dr. Colbert say that people almost never die from the mumps – you'll be fine!"

Peter's eyes narrowed, his lips pursed, trying to forget his misery, finding it impossible, especially with Edmund playing medical consultant. Rolling his eyes, Peter waved it off.

"So other than loneliness, why are you here?"

Edmund pondered his brother's question for a moment before answering.

"Well…" he began slowly. "I want you to get me sick."

Lucy and Susan, now wide awake, both sat up in bed. Peter's jaw dropped dramatically as his brother's request sunk in.

"You want to me to do what?"

Edmund, convinced his brother was losing his hearing along with his voice, firmly repeated.

"I want you to get me sick."

"He heard you silly," said Susan from where she lay, just as shocked as Peter. "I think what he'd like to know is what happened to your brains!"

Edmund sneered coyly at his sister.

"Ha ha, very funny Su."

Footsteps in the hall hushed them into silence, Edmund not hesitating to scurry quickly under Lucy's bed. No sooner had his feet disappeared beneath the bed, than Helen walked in.

"Has Edmund been up here? I can't find him downstairs."

For a moment, no one said a word, Peter's mouth moved, stuttering as he struggled to form a reply.

"I- uh, I'm not…"

Of all people, it was little Lucy who came to Peter, and ultimately Edmund's rescue.

"We haven't seen him Mum, maybe he's outside in the yard."

Never for one moment did Helen doubt her daughter, who, after asking if they needed anything, left the room to continue her search. Edmund peeked his head out from under the bed slowly, shock and confusion making his face.

"Lucy, you know you just lied to Mum don't you?" Said Peter, puzzlement written plainly across his puffy face.

Lucy raising her arms in defense, her eyes wide in reaction to his words.

"I panicked!" She said shakily. "I didn't mean to."

The five year olds lower lip trembled as she crossed her little arms across her chest.

"And besides, I miss Eddie, Susie doesn't tell me stories like Eddie does!"

Climbing up from the floor, Edmund went to sit on Lucy's bed, his face surprisingly grateful.

"I didn't think you liked those old ghost stories Lu?"

Eyes downcast, Lucy's eyes flicked upwards before returning to her lap once again.

"I do." She said softly.

A wide, proud smile stretched the corners of Edmund's mouth as he beamed, a newfound affection for his baby sister filling him to the brim. Reaching over, Edmund wrapped a single arm around the little girl in an unusual display of physical affection. He was rewards momentously as Lucy wrapped her small arms around him, placing a quick peck on his cheek. This time, Edmund didn't wipe it away.

"Maybe the germs will get me sick." He said hopefully, earning a round of reserved laughter from all parties involved.

"How about this Lu, cough in my face."

Reluctantly, Lucy obeyed, hacking forcefully over Edmund's exposed face.

Much to his disappointment, as the days passed, Edmund remained as healthy as ever, continuing to sneak daily into his sibling's room. Over a week and a half later, Peter, Susan and Lucy were fully recovered. And the very first day they were allowed out of bed, Edmund fell ill with the mumps.

The grass is always greener on the other side.


	12. Slippery Slopes

"Don't be such a spoil sport Susie."

Susan rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the same comment she'd heard for the twelfth time that afternoon. Her back to her brothers, Susan tugged harshly at the buttons of her coat, her fingers clumsily attempting to fasten them. She heaved a sigh, much larger than needed as she pulled her purple wool cap down over her ears.

The last thing she wanted to do was go sledding. But, as usual, she'd been outvoted. Peter and Edmund always banded together, and Lucy, who adored both her brothers, would often follow in their footsteps. In moments, Susan would be on a side all her own, and whatever she'd voted on was long forgotten.

A heavily bundled Lucy waddled over to her side, placing her red, mittened hand on her sister's arm. Her bright blue eyes were the only thing Susan could see, the rest of her rosy nearly hidden by her matching red scarf.

"Cheer up Su, we'll go skating another time."

Although Lucy's voice was greatly muffled, Susan heard every word. Even still, her sister's words did little to comfort her. Her siblings would always be on the opposite side, and sometimes Susan felt rather like an outsider. It just wasn't fair.

"I can't find my scarf!" Cried Peter.

At eleven years old, Peter was already well on his way to becoming a responsible adult, or so their mother said. He was so very organized, it was odd for him to misplace something.

"I had it just the other day; I can't understand where it could've gone?"

Peter began searching frantically through the hall closest, desperate to find it.

Edmund, already fully dressed, sweating and impatient to get into the cool air, spoke up.

"Why not just wear one of Dad's?"

This solution seemed perfectly sound to him, but Peter, who dearly treasured the scarf, would not comply.

"I can't lose it, it's the one Grandmother made!"

It was true, last Christmas their father's stepmother had given each child a matching set of winter things. Susan's has been purple, Edmund's blue, Lucy's red, and Peter's had been green. They were warm and comfortable, and Peter, like his siblings, was terribly fond of them.

"What's all the fuss about?" Asked Helen, pulling on her own coat as she walked into the hall.

"I can't find my green scarf, I've lost it!"

Helen looked genuinely perplexed; it was very unlike Peter to lose anything. That was more something Edmund was often known to do.

"Why don't you go check in your room darling, if you can't find it, I lend you my extra."

In a second, Peter dashed up the stairs his heavy booted footsteps plunking through the halls. The rest of them silently went about their preparations for the cold, listening to Peter's footsteps above.

"Mum," said Edmund miserably. "Can we please go sit on the front porch? If I don't get out of here soon, you and Su will have to mop me up off the floor."

Susan giggled slightly, the image of her brother turning into a puddle quite amusing. She could tell by the look on his face he was far from joking.

Helen nodded, an amused smile dancing in her eyes as Peter pounded back down the steps, his green scarf in hand. In a matter of minutes, the children and their mother were outdoors, tramping through the snow, heading down the street towards the nearest sledding slope, only a few blocks away.

The crisp winter air licked at their cheeks, and Susan noted it was a pleasant change from standing inside in their winter things.

Upon arriving at the slope, they were all thrilled to see they would have it all to themselves, as not another child was in sight. In seconds, Peter and Edmund flew down the hill. Edmund, ducking low against the wind, beat Peter to the bottom by a few short moments.

Susan, determined to have as little fun as possible, sat stiffly in her wooden sled, watching first as he mother rode down with Lucy. As soon as they were out of the way, Susan pulled her scarf up over her nose before plunging down the hill.

Cold, icy air whipped past her, adrenaline building as her speed increased. Large white flakes of snow bit at her exposed cheeks and Susan squinted her eyes shut as she slid to a slow stop at the bottom. Shaking extra snow from her nut brown curls, Susan blinked, tiny snow crystal forming along her eyelashes.

As much as she hated to admit it, she was enjoying herself, despite the brisk air, and her red nose. She realized she'd gladly trade a trip to the pond for this.

Turning back towards the top, Susan stood and watched as her brothers flew back down the hill, whipping up clouds of snow behind them. Waving, she smiled as they zipped past her, coming to a stop nearly ten feet past her.

Dusting themselves off, the brothers stood, and Edmund turned to face his sister, his dark eyes dazzlingly clear in the mid-afternoon light. Crunching snow beneath him, he raced over towards her, Peter not far behind.

"Want to race Su? It's really fun, Peter hasn't even been able to beat me today!"

Peter rolled his eyes, a teasing smile on his lips.

"Oh come on Ed, I let you win!"

Laughing, Edmund gave his brother a playful shove.

"He's just saying that to mend his pride!"

Susan shook her head fondly, but still giggled, nodding as she accepted her brother's invitation.

"Race you up to the top of the hill!" Said Susan gaily, sprinting up the hill, her brother's not far behind.

From behind, she heard Peter shout to Edmund. "This is one race you can't beat me at; your legs are too short!"

True to his word, Peter beat Edmund to the top, catching Susan on the way up. When Edmund arrived, they each placed the sleds alongside each other's, sitting down quickly.

"On your mark, get set – GO!"

All three of them began simultaneously, racing down the hill at a breathtaking speed.

Inching forward in her seat, Susan willed herself forward, ducking down against the wind as she'd seen Edmund do before. As she reached the bottom of the hill, Susan let out a yell of victory as Peter finished just behind her. Both siblings turned back to the hill, noticing that Edmund wasn't with them.

Just behind them, his head popping out of a snow bank, Edmund looked down at them, wiping icy chunks of snow from his face and spitting snow from his mouth. Susan laughed, Peter joining her as their snow covered brother trudged down the hill after them.

Sledding truly was fun.


End file.
